windrag : poetry : journal

:: f : w : i : w ::

free stuff

a flourishing potted tree, decorated with tiny
foil-wrapped gift boxes. a rotting gourd,
squirrel-bitten, and carefully placed atop
a fence, peppered with ants

leaf shower

the roses that i’d placed on the mantel
didn’t know whether to bloom or rot
so they did both at once, black-spot and yellow mold
decorate the apricot petals

left ear

quiet trickle-mist
thick wet wind chimes
heart races–what’s next?
this alone

good for them

we pretended it was raining in the classroom
and crept along the walls, under
imaginary awnings, where the ants were right at home
dry and above our fingertips

being sure

i am cognizant of when i need six syllables
i know when two will do. it’s time
to bring fresh flowers from the yard and fold the laundry
i’m not expecting guests